


A Day in the QPR of Dan and Phil

by INeverHadMyInternetPhase



Series: QPR Verse [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Aromantic, Asexuality, Discussions of difficulties with ace/aroness, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INeverHadMyInternetPhase/pseuds/INeverHadMyInternetPhase
Summary: A day in the life of Dan and Phil, but as if they were in a QPR. So basically lots of fluff and cuddles, and a little bit of discussion about difficulties with coming out and why they're still in the closet





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I wanted to explore how being in a QPR can be just as valid as being in any other type of relationship. It may be a bit disjointed, and there is literally no plot. I apologise ^_^

They wake up in the morning and it’s warm, always warm. Phil is always the first to wake (because he doesn’t stay up until 4am on Wikipedia odysseys, _Dan_ ) and he’ll flop onto his side, squirm his way out of whatever blanket cocoon he’s built for himself in the night, and grope out blindly for Dan.

Dan will usually make some kind of grumble sound and flap at him, but Phil takes it for the endearing show of love it really is.

Phil will find a way to cling to Dan. It might be an arm slung over his waist (he wishes Dan would wear more clothes, but Dan complains it’s hot enough already with Phil warm and crushingly close), or a simple nestling against his back or chest, and Dan will grumble through a smile and rearrange himself to better cuddle Phil back. They’ll lie there in a tangle of limbs, safe under their covers, and wait for the day to start without really wishing to move ever again.

Eventually, the need for coffee will force Phil out of bed, or Dan will shove at him and whine about being hungry until Phil feels too guilty and gets up. He’ll usually throw a shirt at Dan’s head on his way to the door, and Dan will squawk.

“You’re wearing that before you come into my kitchen,” Phil explains with his best impression of snootiness, and Dan will peer out of the mess of fringe and cotton and make a face at him.

“ _Our_ kitchen, you spork.”

“Our kitchen,” Phil amends with a smile. He leans against the doorframe, just looks at Dan for a moment. Dan’s cheeks are rosy and his eyes are warm and some form of his dimple will usually make an appearance, just a faint mark on his cheek. Phil’s eyes zero there, flicking across his freckles. He knows Dan’s face better than he knows his own.

“Breakfast,” Dan will remind him in the gentlest of voices, and Phil comes back to himself with a little shake of his head and nods.

“Breakfast.”

He’ll shuffle his way down to the kitchen, flick on the kettle, search for bread to shove in the toaster and forget that he put it in the fridge just like his mum always did. Dan appears a few moments later, wearing boxers and the shirt Phil threw at him, just enough clothes to make Phil feel comfortable. He’s never been as comfortable with nudity as Dan, and Dan respects that. It’s one of the many things that Phil loves about him.

Breakfast is eaten in front of the newest anime. Dan gets this serious look on his face, his eyes intent and zeroed in on the subtitles (of course, he’d made a noise of utter distress when Phil confessed to watching Fullmetal Alchemist dubbed the first time). Phil is watching too, but he’s also watching Dan, his eyes sometimes sliding over to this other person who is somehow so completely right for him. Dan’s legs are slung over Phil’s lap. Phil nudges at Dan’s knee, a tiny touch, but Dan looks over at him and smiles and Phil knows he gets it.

Phil doesn’t think he’ll ever actually be able to say out loud how much Dan means to him.

\---

It’s a day full of meetings. They both have to bundle out of the house into the freezing February wind, and it isn’t raining but it’s damp, that kind of awkward drizzle that just hangs in a mist until its infested their coats and condensation drips on Phil’s glasses and Dan’s hair is starting to curl.

“Don’t,” he warns Phil with a glare, but Phil grins and ruffles it anyway as they stand dripping in the front of the office. Dan shakes his head and steps back, saying “Ph _il_ ,” in that way that is at once fond and exasperated.

Phil’s grin just widens. “You’re cute.”

“Shush.” Dan flicks a quick glance around the almost-empty office, and Phil catches a couple of stares from the receptionist. They’re used to it. Everyone is always presuming things about their relationship, and while they’re not exactly _wrong_ , they’re also never quite _right_.

The meetings drag out for a long time. The better part of three hours is spent wandering from one room to another, or sitting in weird plush chairs in different waiting rooms, and Phil starts to get impatient. Dan can see it in the way his leg jostles Dan’s when they sit just a little too close together, in the way Phil keeps pushing his glasses up his nose or ruffling up his own fringe.

On the fifth ruffle, Dan catches his elbow. “Stop.”

Phil flicks him an almost-desperate look.

“Not much longer, I promise,” Dan answers softly.

“There aren’t any windows.” Phil’s tone is heavy, weighed down with more than usual. There is a crease-frown-line in his forehead. Dan wants to rub it away with his thumb.

Instead, he snorts. “You don’t want too many windows. Sunlight will make you burn into a crisp.”

“Dan, your hair is still wet with drizzle,” Phil points out, which makes Dan instantly duck and mumble something unintelligible, swiping at his fringe. “Besides, I’m not _that_ bad. I’m wearing factor 50.”

“Are you actually,” Dan deadpans, and rolls his eyes a little when Phil huffs out something like a laugh. “Oh my God, you _are_. It’s February. Why are you a monster.”

“You love me,” Phil insists, shooting another quick look around the office before shuffling a little closer, until his thigh is pressed to Dan’s. Dan shifts under it, sends Phil this little warm dark look, and nudges his leg back. It’s not quite an answer, but it’s all Dan will dare when they’re out of their flat.

Phil knows what he means, anyway.

\---

Dan doesn’t like Sarah Hargrove.

They’re in a meeting with her and Catherine Philips, talking about promoting the book. There’s an interview to be done and times to arrange and Sarah just keep peering at the two of them closely with something eager in her eyes.

“Lots of domestic questions,” she says after a moment. “You know, what irritates you most about living with the other, what’s the other’s best feature. Things like that.”

Dan tenses. Phil grips his knee beneath the desk, smiles widely. “Yeah, we can do that. As long as it’s nothing invasive.”

“Oh, of course not,” Sarah gushes, “All completely proper. But, you know. The close-to-home stuff is always the best.”

Dan clenches his hand so hard his nails scrape awkwardly across the plastic of the desk. All eyes spring to him. He flushes, looks away quickly and mumbles, “Yeah, sure, just – keep it surface-level, you know, we like talking about our daily lives but that’s it, but, like. Yeah. I could rant about how much Phil steals my cereal for _hours_.”

It’s a poor attempt at humour, but it makes Catherine snort and Sarah titters nervously. Dan flicks a quick glance up and sees Phil’s profile, not looking at him, but the hand on his knee gives a gentle pat.

Dan breathes out, forces himself to relax, and sits up a little bit straighter. He doesn’t quite manage a smile, but Phil does enough of that for both of them, so it’s probably ok.

When they’re on the tube home, Dan lets out his frustration in a soft little groan. “It’s not that I _don’t_ like talking about it.”

Phil nods. His shoulder is brushing Dan’s, they’re squashed in on all sides by silent commuters. It’s probably not the best place to have this conversation, but Dan is still tense and Phil hates to see that, so he reaches out to brush one carefully-placed hand on Dan’s shoulder.

Dan just tenses more, though, so Phil draws away again quickly. “I know,” he answers lowly, still not sure how to tiptoe around this conversation even after seven years. “Wait until we get home?”

Dan blows out an annoyed breath, his fringe rustling with it. He doesn’t meet Phil’s eyes when he mumbles, frustrated, “Yeah, of course. It’s fine though, like, I’m _fine_.”

Phil doesn’t bother to correct him, but he does slide out his phone and text Dan a picture of a bedraggled shibe. When Dan’s phone buzzes, he doesn’t quite manage to hide his smile.

They get home in a tangle of wet limbs and shopping bags. Dan sets about packing things away immediately (not before Phil manages to steal a packet of biscuits and run into the living room before Dan can chase him), but it doesn’t take long for him to be done and then he follows Phil and just kind of… flops onto the sofa next to him.

Phil offers him a biscuit.

“It’s not that I _don’t_ want to talk about it,” Dan reiterates, continuing the tube conversation effortlessly. He takes the biscuit, crunches on it for a moment or two, and continues, “I just don’t like the way everyone is always reading into it.”

“I know,” Phil offers slightly unhelpfully. He knows what Dan’s getting at, but sometimes it’s hard for Phil to know exactly what to say. The world always has and always will read into relationships like theirs, will assume they’re not explicit about the nature of their companionship because they’re private people. Which isn’t exactly false, but, well. Things would be easier if they could just say _we’re in a QPR_ and have people know what they meant.

Dan makes a face, waving a hand at Phil. Phil passes him another biscuit.

“It’s just like,” Dan continues, “Like, I can tease you about stealing my cereal and moan about you leaving socks everywhere until we turn blue in the face, and people _still_ aren’t going to care about what’s really going on.”

Phil thumbs a crumb away from the side of Dan’s mouth. Dan makes a face at him and moves away.

“We’ll know,” Phil points out.

Dan sighs. “Yeah, we’ll know. I just. I don’t even know. Sometimes I look at everyone else’s coming out videos and I think, _I wish we could have that_. Just. I wish it could be that easy. Not that it’s _easy_ for them, fuck, that’s not what I meant—”

“I know, Dan,” Phil reassures him quickly. He grabs his hand, gives it a squeeze, and Dan sighs and leans into his side.

“I just remember how you were when we first met,” Dan mumbles into Phil’s shoulder, so he doesn’t have to meet Phil’s eyes. Phil smiles. Dan still gets embarrassed about this, even so many years later, and it’s adorable in Phil’s eyes but he has a feeling that would be the wrong word to tell Dan right then.

“Like,” Dan adds, “You used to look so nervous when we talked about visiting, and I _said_ , you know, I _said_ I didn’t have to visit if you didn’t want, and you looked so terrified—”

“I was,” Phil admits softly. This isn’t something he likes looking back on, not really, unless it’s to acknowledge the moment the sunshine of Dan entered his life. He can still remember gathering his courage up, holding it in a tight ball so it wouldn’t completely dissipate the moment Dan’s webcam blinked to life. He’d promised himself he was going to tell Dan the truth, what little of it Phil knew, and he’d ended up blurting it out as soon as Dan grinned and said hi.

“I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Dan had actually fallen out of his bed. Phil remembers it with a soft smile, the startled exclamation and the thud and the mess of blankets and Dan’s curls when he’d peeked over the side of the bed to stare at Phil with wide eyes again.

“What on earth gave you the idea I wanted to have sex with _you_?” Dan had asked, but Phil hadn’t been fooled. Dan had been nervous about it, back then, still was occasionally. He hadn’t had the confidence to not do what was expected, so when they’d defined themselves as _more than friends_ (whatever that meant) in the days before Dan’s first scheduled visit, Dan had started to suggest… things. Out of panic, Phil knows now, but back then it had terrified him.

They’d ironed it out. They’d fumbled around something neither of them knew the word for, realised they actually had the same boundaries, and Dan had come to visit and it had been everything. They’d kissed, once, just to try it, but otherwise it had been a weekend of cuddles and films and learning Dan’s smell and warmth and eyes that sparkled more in real life than on camera.

“It would have been so much easier if there’d been a word for it,” Dan continues now, softly, still speaking into Phil’s shoulder. “It would be so much easier now.”

“There is a word for it,” Phil reminds him, but Dan makes a frustrated noise. Phil gets it. They have a word, sure, but no one knows what it _means_.

“No one knows what it means,” Dan repeats Phil’s thoughts out loud, and grabs another biscuit. “Instead, we have everyone assuming all that other stuff, and we have fucking Sarah Hargrove trying to get us to be more _open_ and _domestic_ and I can see it, like, she thinks it and so does Catherine, probably, and—”

“Catherine’s lovely,” Phil reminds him.

“I _know_ ,” Dan huffs. “But she just – and – and I still have to film in the other fucking bedroom because if everyone knew we were sharing a bed they’d _assume_ —”

“I know what they’d assume,” Phil interrupts quickly, and Dan flashes him an apologetic smile.

“I wouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.” He reaches out to brush a thumb across Phil’s cheek, tenderly, and Phil feels like a warm streak of sunshine just lit up his skin.

“Don’t be sorry,” Phil reprimands him. “I get it. I _agree_ , I just… don’t know what to say. How to make it better.”

Dan smiles at him, bright again, almost enough to crease up his eyes. “You don’t have to solve everything.”

“Well, yeah, but if you come to me with a problem then I like being able to solve it,” Phil admits, “But about all I can do here is say, _uh huh, yeah, I know right,_ without actually being very helpful.”

Dan laughs at him. “You could also give me another biscuit.”

“And you accuse _me_ of secret eating.” Phil does, though, because he can’t say no when Dan’s whiny and soft and seeking cuddles. Dan grins at him through biscuity crumbs and its gross but Phil also feels better about, well, everything, because Dan is still here and still his and that’s all that really matters.

\---

They spend the rest of the evening snuggled up on the couch together, both with their laptops out. Dan manages to squidge his head on Phil’s lap along with the laptop, and sits sideways with his feet up on the sofa cushions, laptop propped open on his knees. Phil ends up looking at him there more than he looks at his own laptop screen.

It’s just, sometimes Phil can’t quite get over how _lucky_ he is. To have another person who’s boundaries match his so exactly, someone who will watch anime with him and force him to listen to questionable music and hug him endlessly but never kiss him too much, and grow old with him without some of the more awkward connotations that usually brings. Dan comes on family holidays with him and looks away with him when his brother kisses his girlfriend, he holds Phil’s hand on the beach and kisses his forehead every night before they go to sleep.

Dan is also heavy. Phil’s legs are falling asleep. He nudges at Dan’s head with his knee, but Dan makes the most heartbreaking whine and peeks up at Phil through his fringe.

Phil groans back at him. “ _No_.”

“ _Please_ ,” Dan whines. “I’m so comfortable, Phil, you don’t understand.”

“I’m not spending the entire night on the sofa again.”

“But I’m _so comfortable_ ,” Dan enthuses, making a show of stretching out. He has one headphone in his ear; Phil watches the way the wire hangs past his dimple.

“ _You_ might be comfortable,” Phil grumbles, but he’s smiling. Dan catches the look, returns it widely, and refuses to budge from his place on Phil’s lap.

Phil lets out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but _just_ another hour or so.”

Dan interrupts him with a whoop, but it’s the cutest little sound so Phil doesn’t tell him off for it. Instead he just kind of sags down until his back isn’t hitting the hard edge of their sofa and his now-numb legs can stretch out a bit.

He’s been watching reruns of property shows, seeing all these pretty couples or families hunt out their dream property, and it’s got him thinking. Soon, he knows. He hasn’t properly talked about it with Dan yet, but he’s heard Dan’s pointed remarks about storage, knows enough to see that Dan is starting to subtly hint about it. Phil isn’t stupid. Soon.

But for now, his legs really are completely numb and his head is sore and he’s tired. He wants to go to bed.

Dan groans the minute he feels Phil moving, and shoots him a betrayed glare. “That wasn’t another hour.”

“I know, but I’m _so tired_ ,” Phil confesses, and it makes Dan give him a more serious look and then melt a little bit.

He shifts without another word, hoisting himself upright with a grumbly sigh, but Dan closes both their laptops and then takes Phil’s hands in his own and tugs. “C’mon then, old man. Bedtime.”

“Thanks, my son,” Phil says, weirdly, but Dan just shakes his head and grins.

They curl up together in bed, like always, even if Dan is on his phone when Phil is trying to sleep. The light is bright behind Phil’s closed eyelids but he’s used to it, and eternally thankful that Dan came to bed with him rather than staying out in the lounge on his own. Neither of them do too well on their own, but for Phil in particular the loudness of an empty room rattles inside his skull until he starts feeling panicky.

Dan is always there to calm him with a touch, though.

Phil’s head is pillowed against Dan’s shoulder – Dan still refuses to wear a shirt in bed, which means Phil is only really safe on his shoulder, but he doesn’t mind that much. Dan’s skin is warm and he smells nice, and this feels more like being at home than anywhere else has in a long time.

Phil closes his eyes and falls asleep with the tapping of Dan’s fingers against his phone as his soundtrack, and thinks, it’s not so bad really, is it. They’ve carved out their own way of being, and it works for them, and really, he doesn’t think he could be any happier.


End file.
